


bitter honey, flightless bird

by fensandmarshes



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Relationship Study, literally just me word vomiting into my gdoc bc i heard jin liked schlackity n had some Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fensandmarshes/pseuds/fensandmarshes
Summary: In another world, they’re the perfect set of complements.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 21
Kudos: 73





	bitter honey, flightless bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Out_for_lunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_for_lunch/gifts).



> so jin i heard u had schlackity on the brain occasionally
> 
> no fam i literally have no clue what this is im so sorry
> 
> (this is entirely based off of dsmp characters, rather than irl people!)

In another world, they’re the perfect set of complements.

Schlatt’s the line between bitter and sweet, acerbic until his touch is impossibly gentle on the crook of Alex’s elbow, with a mouth full of vitriol and his hands broad and soft as they place a cup down at Alex’s side when he’s been working too long. In that other world they’re matched in drive and ambition and perfectly uneven in the ways they show it, and Schlatt’s the one who drags Alex up from miles upon hours of papers and words and work. In that other world, Schlatt’s fire and water: something of the hearth about him even as he snaps like flames at tender fingers, and something to his thousand-yard stare like a sea that can’t decide between storm and serenity. He’s just sweet enough that in that other world it’s the stronger part, more so than the bitter that remembers all his ghosts and never quite forgives or forgets. Alex, for his part, both forgives and forgets with impossible ease; that is the world where they smooth each others’ rough edges, each others’ broken-glass jagged parts made whole and clean and, if not perfect, at least something to be proud of having overcome.

Alex is the line between spicy and sour, all bark and no bite until you stumble into his fouler graces and find yourself in far over your head. He’s fast talking and a slowly unfurling net, like a trap waiting to be sprung; in that other world he’s the giddy glee of tossing something in your hand into the air, just to prove you can, and the little flare of smugness that comes with catching it on the full with a mildly satisfying smack. Alex is the one who snaps Schlatt out of it when he falls too deep into himself, something of the bird about him even while he’s always solid ground; he’s air and earth, joy bright in his eyes and a hand steady, solid, resting on a jawline with a murmur of _I’m here, you’re here - isn’t that wonderful?_ He’s loud like it’s an outer shell and in that world he knows how to let it fall when he needs to, to let the quiet win, to know it’s not a defeat, not really; he is the silence after an argument, the one that comes between the spitfire words and the slow painstaking good work of making up. In that world, he throws himself into the latter with the same enthusiasm as he has always given to his insults. In that world, he channels his energy into building up.

In that world they’re a team that no one wants to cross, and they’re ruthless in their efficiency, but more than that they’re happy - happy in a place that comes from the hearth, from the thrill of the open sky, from the sea in storm and the silent earth and two angry men who’ve figured out how to be gentle. If with no one else, then with each other. In that world they are the quiet to each others’ fury - a set of perfect complements, trading roles back and forth with practice if not ease. In that world, they’ve got things all worked out.

It would be nice if this were that world.

But this is the world of broken-glass edges and talking at the speed of light without ever lending an ear, and it’s the world where Schlatt is the sting of a cruel spitfire tongue and a sea that has chosen to be choppy, storm-tossed. Where Alex is wind screaming through a yawning chasm and the unforgiving stone at its lowest, harshest point. And there is no hand resting on Schlatt’s jawline and no mug at Alex’s elbow and that’s just how it is, that absence; that’s just the way they have to be. There’s no other way they could have been - is the excuse they use. No point trying when it’s this fucked-up; no point bothering when it’s always going to boil down to this, unmatched, uneven, out of sync in a way that just makes them both weary.

This is the world where there’s nothing else they can be - right?

Neither of them know about that other world. That kinder world. Neither of them have enough breathing-space or gentleness to look for it.

**Author's Note:**

> ily


End file.
